My daughters and I spent a lot of time walking outdoors when they were young. One of my favorite photos of the two of them was taken near our Flagstaff home, on an after-school walk.
I know it was after school because they are both wearing long, striped school dresses. Zoe’s was red and pink; Abbe’s stripes alternated powder blue and magenta. They are kneeling near a low-growing cactus, Engelmann’s hedgehog, carefully examining it to avoid the spines.
I can’t be sure what time of year it was: fall, or maybe early summer. There are small yellow wildflowers in the image; I think they are wood sorrel, but a certain ID is difficult. If the flowers are wood sorrel, they’re no help for determining the time of year as they bloom spring through fall. Since hedgehog cactus blooms in spring and the bright magenta flowers are absent, it must be in the fall, after school resumed. They must have just started the third grade.
The photo is special to me for a few reasons. For starters, it’s my girls. The photo also illustrates the mellow vibe we shared on those afternoon walks. We were happy to mosey about, and if someone spied a hedgehog cactus and wanted to take a closer look, we stopped and did just that.
And maybe most poignantly, I know now that the photo, one I took by the way, is from one of our last Flagstaff walks. Not long after that, we moved to Idaho for two years, and then to Kalispell.
In Idaho, they’d joined me less and less frequently. As middle schoolers in Kalispell, I don’t recall them ever walking with me for my bird training treks on the hill overlooking Kidsports, where my English setter Jack and I used to find pheasants and huns.
By the time we were back in Montana, the girls were older and not so keen on our afternoon walks. Where they once insisted on joining me, they had grown older and independent enough to prefer doing their own thing.
Fortunately, I had another plan for my independent teenagers. I bought a raft and floating replaced walking. It wasn’t as easy or spontaneous as after-school walks, but it was more intense and meant 5-6 hours of quality time on the water with my teen daughters.
Floating’s pace also suited our vibe just fine. We usually didn’t go too early: mid-morning starts with lunchtime put-ins were the norm.
We liked the Middle Fork. The river is easy enough when you start at Moccasin Creek, with some of the best fishing on that upper stretch, but by the time we hit Tunnel Rapid I was usually anxious. Just downstream, Bone Crusher is bigger, but less technical, and it generally provided a good soak for the girls in the front of the boat on hot days, as well as images from the photogs camped out there all summer.
Screaming Right has always been my nemesis. I’ve flirted with catastrophe on that rapid more than once, but always stayed upright.
We were partial to the North Fork, however. There are times we didn’t want to contend with whitewater. Though whitewater is fun, it’s also stressful. The North Fork has its tricky spots, but it’s generally a calmer, relaxing float. And that stretch of river above and below Fool Hen Rapids, where the water moves away from the dust clouds and noise of North Fork Road, is otherworldly. It’s like floating the Enchanted River in Middle-earth.
Our provisions included a loaf from Ceres, cheese, Sierra Nevada Pale Ale for me, and something less hoppy for the twins. They learned to fly fish well enough to get their bug out on the water while I steered it into position with the oars.
It’s been a while since we’ve been together on a river. I hope it won’t be much longer.